༝༚

why can’t i be into normal stuff

[realgalore]

imma reveal myself to ask this once again but PLEASE make a part two for “we never got that far” bc that is SERIES MATERIAL!! ITS SO AMAZING U DONT UNDERSTAND I LOVE THAT TROPE SM PLEASEEEEEEE MY INNER 10 YEAR OLD IS BEGGING 💔💔💔💔

OMGGGGG !! i most definitely will 🥹🥹 ❤️ i’ve been such a chud this summer .. like i’ve had no motivation whatsoever 🫩.. BUT I WILL MAKE A PART TWO JUST FOR YOUUU !!

should i make it a series 😇? btw you just gave me motivation THANKS

[realgalore]

UNTIL TIME ᥬᩤ

juhoon

You were never strangers, never lovers—just two people who almost had everything. ⋆

includes 🍊 ༝ angst • right person, wrong time • emotional realism • bittersweet ending ꩜

・・・・・

Nobody ever tells you that almosts hurt longer than breakups. At least breakups have a date. A reason. A conversation you can replay until you’re sick of it.

Almosts just… linger.

The funny thing is, if someone asked how you met Juhoon, the story wouldn’t sound romantic at all.

It started because your best friend was late.

Again.

She dragged you to one of CORTIS’s open rehearsals because Martin had invited her after they’d become friends through mutuals. You didn’t even want to go. You spent twenty minutes complaining that you’d rather be home watching mukbangs on tiktok .

“You’ll survive two hours,” your friend laughed.

“I’m billing you if I die of boredom.”

“You won’t.”

She was right.

Just not for the reason she thought.

⸻

The practice room wasn’t glamorous.

Half-empty water bottles.

Sweatshirts thrown over chairs.

Music cutting on and off every thirty seconds while James argued with the choreographer over an eight-count.

Martin was the first one to notice you.

“your friend finally brought you,” he smiled. “She talks about you every day.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“For her.”

He laughed.

You liked Martin immediately because he never tried too hard. He had that neighborhood-boy energy that made conversations feel easy.

Juhoon, on the other hand…

Barely looked at you.

He nodded once before walking back toward the mirrors.

“He’s quiet,” Martin whispered.

“I noticed.”

“He gets worse around new people.”

“I don’t think that’s physically possible.” juhoon

Martin nearly choked trying not to laugh.

That was the first time Juhoon smiled at something you said.

Even if it wasn’t to you.

⸻

You didn’t become friends overnight.

Actually…

For the first month, the two of you probably exchanged less than thirty sentences.

Most of them were things like—

“You can sit here.”

“Thanks.”

or

“Your phone’s ringing.”

“Oh.”

That’s it.

No sparks.

No movie moments.

Just two people constantly ending up in the same room because Martin kept inviting everybody to eat after practice.

James joked that Martin collected people the way kids collected Pokémon cards.

“If someone makes eye contact with him once,” James said, “they’re suddenly at dinner.”

Martin defended himself.

“I like having people around.”

“I know.”

“You say that like it’s a crime.”

“It kind of is.” james joked

⸻

The friendship happened quietly.

Juhoon started waiting whenever you were still tying your shoes after everyone else had already walked outside.

He’d hand you your charger because you forgot it.

You’d bring him iced coffee without asking because you memorized his order after seeing him buy the same drink every rehearsal.

Neither of you acknowledged any of it.

It just became normal.

⸻

One night, practice ended close to midnight.

Everyone was exhausted.

James wanted burgers.

Martin wanted ramen.

Nobody could agree on anything.

While they argued in the parking lot, you and Juhoon wandered toward the convenience store across the street.

Neither of you spoke for almost five minutes.

Then—

“You don’t mind silence.”

He wasn’t asking.

“You do?”

He shrugged.

“Most people fill it.”

“I think people are scared of it.”

He looked over.

“Yeah.”

That was probably the longest conversation you’d had.

Eight minutes.

About absolutely nothing.

It somehow became your favorite memory.

⸻

your friend noticed before you did.

“You like him.”

“I don’t.”

“You buy him coffee.”

“I buy everybody coffee.”

“You’ve bought James coffee twice.”

“Exactly.”

“You’ve bought Juhoon twenty-three.”

“…You counted?”

“I was bored.”

⸻

Nothing officially happened.

Nothing needed to.

People started pairing you together naturally.

James would tease—

“Where’s your shadow?”

Martin would ask—

“Did Juhoon already leave?”

they started assuming you’d show up if Juhoon was already there.

It felt comfortable.

Safe.

Like something that had all the time in the world.

Which was exactly why neither of you rushed it.

⸻

Then life started moving faster than either of you expected.

the boys schedule exploded.

Overseas promotions.

Tours.

Brand shoots.

Months where Juhoon barely slept more than four hours.

Meanwhile…

Your dream internship in another city actually accepted you.

You stared at the email for ten minutes before calling your best friend .

“I should be happy.”

“You are.”

“I don’t feel happy.”

“Because?”

“…”

“You don’t know what happens with him.”

⸻

Martin was the first person you told.

He didn’t even pretend to be excited.

He just sighed.

“When do you leave?”

“Three weeks.”

He nodded slowly.

“I figured.”

“Figured what?”

“You’ve both been pretending time wasn’t real.”

⸻

You finally told Juhoon the night before your flight.

No dramatic setting.

Just outside the studio after practice.

Streetlights.

Cars passing.

Everyone else had already left.

“I’m moving.”

He blinked once.

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“…Oh.”

That was it.

No movie confession.

No running after you.

Just two people realizing they had waited too long because they’d assumed there would always be another month.

Another dinner.

Another coffee.

Another walk to the convenience store.

⸻

“I kept thinking I’d tell you when things slowed down,” he admitted.

You laughed softly.

“They never slow down.”

“No.”

“They really don’t.”

For the first time since you’d met him…

Juhoon reached for your hand.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for your fingers to touch.

“I liked you.”

The words were almost quiet enough to miss.

“I know.”

“You did?”

“I think I’ve known for a while.”

He smiled, but it looked tired.

“I was hoping timing would fix itself.”

“It doesn’t.”

“No.”

⸻

People always ask if you’ve spoken since then.

Sometimes.

Martin still sends pictures of everyone eating together.

James still randomly calls just to complain about practice and gossip for thirty minutes before hanging up without saying goodbye.

Juhoon…

Every few months, one of you reacts to the other’s story.

Happy birthday.

Congratulations.

Hope you’re doing well.

Nothing more.

Because sometimes loving someone isn’t the difficult part.

Meeting them at the version of life where love can actually survive—

That’s the impossible part.

And years later, whenever someone says, “Everything happens for a reason,”

you still think about the boy who always waited while you tied your shoes…

and wonder if maybe the only reason some people come into your life is to teach you that the right person can still arrive at the wrong time.

・・・・・

[realgalore]

𝐰𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐫‧˚꒰🐾

𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 ⋮ ⌗ ┆ You’ve spent eight years dreaming about the same boy.

Eight years watching him slip away before you can reach him.

When you finally meet him in real life, he’s everything you never expected—and everything you’ve been afraid of.

Now, with every passing day, you’re forced to love someone while knowing there’s a future where he doesn’t stay long enough to love you back. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

𝐂𝐖 ˚. ᵎᵎ - angst. lots and lots of angst. grief, loss, missed chances, unresolved feelings, and emotional pain.

𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ˎˊ˗ hey readers this is my first time ever writing something like this ..so this is beyond new for me , but please enjoy. reblogs , likes & follows are highly appreciated ! ⋮

The first time you dreamed about him, you were eleven years old.

He stood in the middle of a train station Not doing anything. Just standing there. Dark hair falling into his eyes. Hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Waiting for something. Or someone.

You couldn’t see his face clearly. Only the feeling. A strange ache in your chest. A terrible sense that something was wrong. Then you’d wake up. Every time. The dream never changed. Not really. The locations did. The boy didn’t.

For years, he followed you. A crowded street. An empty basketball court. A bus stop. A beach at sunset. A snowy sidewalk. Always him. Always alone. And always ending before you could reach him.

By the time you turned nineteen, you stopped telling people about the dreams.

Nobody wanted to hear about the mysterious dream boy you’d been seeing since childhood.

Honestly, you didn’t want to hear about him either. You just wanted him gone.

You wanted one night of sleep without wondering why your brain kept creating the same stranger over and over again.

Then came your first day of university. And everything changed. Because he wasn’t a stranger anymore.

You were halfway through your lecture when someone walked in late.

The professor barely looked up. “Find a seat.” The boy nodded. And your entire body went cold.

No.

No.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He moved down the aisle. Three rows ahead. Sat down. Turned slightly. And suddenly you could see him clearly.

The same face.

The same eyes.

The same boy.

The boy from your dreams.

For a second, you couldn’t breathe. your notebook slipped from your hands. The sound echoed through the classroom. Several people looked over. Including him.

His eyes met yours. Just for a moment. Then he smiled politely. And looked away. Like he’d never seen you before.

Because he hadn’t.

But you’d seen him.

For eight years.

۫ ׅ

His name was Keonho. You learned that from attendance. The professor called it. Keonho raised his hand. And suddenly the name became real too. Not dream boy.

Not stranger.

Keonho.

A real person. A real student. A real boy sitting twenty feet away from you. You spent the entire lecture staring at the back of his head.

Trying to convince yourself you were hallucinating Trying to convince yourself you were insane. trying to convince yourself this wasn’t happening.

None of it worked.

Because when class ended, he stood up. And he looked exactly the same.

۫ ׅ

That night, the dream returned. You were standing in the middle of a city street. Cars passing. People moving. And there he was.

Keonho.

Standing across from you. Closer than he’d ever been before. For the first time, you could see his face perfectly.

His smile.

His eyes.

Everything.

“Keonho.” The name slipped from your lips. The dream version of him looked surprised. Like he could actually hear you. You started running.. trying to reach him.

Trying to finally cross the distance that had separated you for years.

But no matter how fast you moved, you couldn’t get closer.

Something was wrong. The feeling returned. That awful feeling. The one that always came before you woke up.

“Wait!”

You shouted.

“Please wait!”

Keonho opened his mouth. Like he wanted to say something.

Then— You woke up. Heart pounding. Breathing hard. The room dark around you. The clock read 3:17 AM.

And for the first time in eight years, you cried. Because he wasn’t a dream anymore. He was real.

And somehow that made everything worse. —

۫ ׅ

Over the next few weeks, you tried avoiding him. It didn’t work. The universe seemed determined to put Keonho directly in your path.

You saw him at the library, the cafeteria , the student center, the coffee shop near campus.

Everywhere.

And every time, he looked completely normal. Not cursed. Not haunted. Not doomed. Just… Keonho.

The boy who always sat by the window , the boy who laughed quietly, the boy who offered his charger to strangers when their phones died.

The boy who held doors open without thinking , the boy who somehow made everyone around him comfortable. You hated it. Because every nice thing you learned about him made it harder.

Harder to stay away. Harder to forget. Harder to ignore the dreams.

Then one afternoon, he sat beside you.. Just sat down. Like it was the most normal thing in the world , you nearly dropped your drink.

“Hi.”

His smile was small. Friendly. Easy.

“You’re in my history class, right?”

You stared. He waited. You forgot how to speak.

“…Yeah.”

“Cool.”

A pause. Then he pointed to your notebook.

“You draw during lectures.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“I sit behind you.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You’ve noticed?”

Keonho laughed softly.

“You make it sound creepy.”

Maybe it was. Because you wanted to scream.

Instead you smiled.

And somehow that conversation turned into another. And another. And another.

Until suddenly, without realizing it, Keonho became part of your life.

And every night the dreams got a little clearer.

A little longer. A little closer to their ending. And for the first time ever— You were terrified of finding out what happened next.

[realgalore]

the truth was never the problem 𑣲⋆

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 | you 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗃𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗃𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌． —

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 | gaslighting, emotional manipulation, and toxic relationship dynamics. — AND THE READER IS THE LEADER OF THE FLOCK LMAO

The worst part was that you already knew. it wasn’t a feeling, not a guess, you knew. It started three weeks earlier with small things— such as missed calls, disappearing without any explanation for hours, excuses on top of excuses that didn’t add up, and a phone he suddenly couldn’t leave face-up anymore. Every time you asked, he said you were overthinking.

“you’re doing too fucking much.”

“it’s not that serious.”

“you always assume the worst.”

And eventually, you started wondering if maybe he was right.

Until one night.

Your friend sent you a screenshot. Then another. Then another.

Pictures of him. Pictures of a girl.

Not holding hands. Not kissing. Nothing that would make him instantly guilty. But enough. Way more than enough.

There was a picture of them at dinner, another one in a car..that I bought him, another one posted from the exact place he told you he wasn’t at.

You felt sick because suddenly all the missing pieces fit together—all the excuses, all the disappearances, all the lies.

You wanted to confront him. You really did. But a part of you was holding back, because what if he talked his way out of it again? What if somehow you ended up being the bad guy? Like always.

Still, you called him.

after 2 missed calls he answered .

Jer: “hello?”

His voice sounded annoyed.

Your eyes immediately filled with tears.

“just tell me the truth jermajesty.” you said while looking at the screenshots.

Silence.

Jer: “what truth?”

You: “don’t do that.”

Jer: “do what?”

you: “stop pretending you don’t know what i’m talking about.”

Another pause.

Jer: “here you go mane.”

Your chest tightened because somehow he already sounded irritated, like this conversation was a mistake.

you: “who is she?”

Jer: “what?”

you: “the bitch that you’re fucking jer.”

Jer: “fuck is you talking about ?”

You closed your eyes, already irritated wanting to punch him through the phone.

you: “jer please don’t play with me right now..”

Jer : “i don’t know who the fuck you talking about.”

Then you heard it. A laugh. Soft. Female. In the background.

Your entire body froze.

Silence. Then another laugh, closer this time.

Your stomach dropped.

you: “who’s that?”

Immediately.

Jer: “what?”

You: “who’s laughing?”

Jer: “it’s the tv.”

You almost laughed because it was such a stupid lie.

you: “stop.”

Jer: “what?”

you: “stop lying jermajesty.. you don’t turn your tv on unless you on that stupid ass game.”

Jer: “i’m not lying.”

You heard movement. A door shutting. Suddenly everything got quieter—way quieter, like he’d left the room.

Your heart sank.

you: “where are you?”

Jer: “at my friend’s house.”

you: “which friend?”

Pause. Too long. Way too long.

Jer: “yo why does it matter?”

Because people telling the truth don’t need time to remember it.

You: “are you at her house?”

Silence. Actual silence. For three seconds. Four. Five.

Then—

Jer: “wow.”

He laughed.

Jer: “that’s what you think of me?”

Not a no. Not an answer. Just offense.

you: “answer the question.”

Jer: “nah because you acting dumb ass fuck right now”

you: “just answer it jer.”

Jer: “you really think i’d do that?”

you: “answer it.”

Jer: “you don’t trust me at all.”

Your throat tightened because somehow the conversation was changing. You could feel it happening, slipping away. The cheating wasn’t the topic anymore—your trust was.

you: “i trusted you for months jermajesty .”

Jer: “obviously not.”

you: “i have screenshots.”

Jer: “from who?”

you: “it doesn’t matter.”

Jer: “it does matter.”

His voice sharpened.

Jer: “because you’re letting those bitches you hang around get in your head.”

you: “the screenshots are real.”

Jer: “and?.. it’s not like they proving shit.”

You blinked.

you: “and?”

Jer: “people take pictures all the time.”

you: “you lied about where you were.”

Jer: “no i didn’t.”

you: “yes you did.”

Jer: “you’re remembering wrong.”

Remembering wrong.

Your stomach twisted because you knew what he was doing.

You knew.

Making you question yourself. Making you question reality. Making you wonder if maybe you were confused. Maybe you were dramatic. Maybe you were crazy.

you: “why won’t you just tell me the truth?”

Your voice cracked.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then he sighed—long, dramatic, exhausted.

Jer: “i can’t do this anymore.”

Your heart dropped.

you: “what?”

Jer: “i’m tired of constantly defending myself over shit you see.. then you get to assuming the worst and running with it .”

You stared at the wall, speechless, because defend himself from what? He still hadn’t answered anything with his half ass responses.

Jer: “you’re making me feel like a horrible person.”

There it was—the switch.

Suddenly he was hurt. Suddenly he was the victim. Suddenly you were the one causing damage.

you: “jer…that’s not what i’m trying to do.”

Jer: “but it’s what you’re doing.”

You wiped your eyes.

The fight was leaving your body slowly, painfully.

You were so tired. So tired of arguing. So tired of crying. So tired of trying to drag honesty out of somebody who clearly didn’t want to give it.

you: “i’m sorry.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Silence.

Then a softer tone.

Jer: “what?”

you: “i’m sorry.”

You looked down at your hands.

you: “i shouldn’t have accused you.”

The second you said it, your stomach sank, because deep down—you still knew.

The screenshots, the lies, the girl’s laugh, the door closing, the pauses.

You knew.

But somehow you were apologizing again.

you: “i just miss us.”

you whispered.

Jer: “i know.”

He sounded relieved. Comfortable. Safe.

“i know.”

Not “i’m sorry.” Not “let’s talk about this.” Just relief.

Because he won.

The conversation ended twenty minutes later.

You hung up, stared at your phone, and cried.

Because the worst part wasn’t that he cheated, it wasn’t the lies, it wasn’t even hearing another girl in the background—the worst part was knowing the truth the entire time